


A Jackie By Any Other Name

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Nicknames, Pining, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: He has a thousand and one nicknames for her, and sometimes they last, sometimes they don’t. But she keeps track of every single one, holding it close to her heart, because each one is different. Special. She likes feeling like that. Even before they got together, because Hyde was nothing if not a man of convenience, and nicknames were always within easy reach for him.





	1. Blue Jay

She's beautiful, but damn it all if she isn't  _loud_. Just like those fucking noisy-ass birds that collect outside the Forman's kitchen windows every morning. Their bright blue feathers shining like jewels inside their lush coats as they hop about, trilling and squawking uproariously. Blue jays, flitting about, with their screeches as disruptive as… well. Jackie.

And yet, he still listens. He can't even lie and say he's waiting for her to be done so that they can make out, because he actually knows what she's talking about. To an extent. Honestly, if he understood every word that came out of her mouth about her various toiletries, he’d have to kill himself out of shame. _God_ he wishes he could say he hates how soft he’s gotten around her, but he just can't bring himself to think that. It's completely untrue. He's even starting to enjoy her long diatribes on rumors from cheer camp.

_Dear Lord, I’m becoming Forman!_

It just seems right when he snaps the name at her in a fit of pique. She’s on his lap and no one’s around, but she’s talking about her freaking hair when they _could_ be sucking face like the horny teenagers they absolutely were on that musty old couch of Forman’s. He’s already nibbling her ear, kissing her neck, leaving a trail of hickeys across her collarbone, doing _anything_ he can to get her off the subject. To no avail. Still she chatters, twittering on and on, looking absolutely gorgeous while doing so.

Finally he leans back, catching her eyes with his, glaring half-heartedly. He can’t be mad at her for longer than a few minutes at a time, not really. Nearly all of his rage becomes distilled to apathy or simple emptiness at some point, and he thinks the emotion he’s supposed to reach after anger is one he hasn’t learned. But that’s neither here nor there right now.

“Hey, hey, Blue Jay, you gonna keep yapping my ear off or did you want to get around to the fun part of our evening?”

She grins, wide and slow, too happy with something he only came up with on the spot, “Is that my new nickname?” She always focuses on the part that's about her. He finds himself smiling at that, which is stupid and ridiculous of him. Not that he can stop it at this point.

“Shut up, Blue Jay.” he pulls her in with a small grunt, burying his hands in her silky dark hair. Whatever she does to it, not that he pays attention, works well at least. He likes the way his fingers slide so easily through her raven locks. She likes it when his grip tightens on a handful of it and he tugs on it, just a little. Makes these tiny gasps leave her lips. He eats them up hungrily, his scruffy beard tickling her chin and cheeks.

Whenever she’s talking too much, he calls her Blue Jay, but it never shuts her up. He doesn’t mind so much; it gives him the excuse he barely needs to kiss her.


	2. Doll

‘Doll’ is safe, sweet, easy. It’s their not-so secret name. He uses it pretty casually, regardless of who is around. Thinks it makes him sound a little dangerous, a little mobster even. She likes it because ‘doll’ also means he’s being sweet. He uses it when he’s cheering her up, when he’s staring into her eyes and smiling in the corners of his lips and colors of his eyes. He hardly ever smiles with his whole face, unless he's particularly stoned.

_ “Anything for you doll,” _ he had once said, with that trademark smirk of his. And she had believed him in that moment, with everything inside of her, no matter how he acted afterwards. He would do anything for her. So long as no one else could see. 

But that’s just how guys like Hyde operate.

He doesn’t mind using this in front of the others, but he’s not about to flaunt it. Just like how he doesn’t mind kissing her in front of the others, he prefers to keep her to himself. Entirely. But she won't know about that until much later. She doesn't think she'll ever get to know his true feelings for her.

"Got you a pop," he sits down, handing her the icy cold can absently. She looks to him with that bright, childish, and infinite love only a young girl is capable of.

"Thank you, Hyde!" she beams.

He grunts, "No problem, doll." He tries to ignore the hero-worship type crush she has on him. It's chipping away at his tough guy exterior, and that just... that can't happen.


	3. Grasshopper

_ Shine, Grasshopper, shine! _

This comes about before they even had their first date in unseasonable warmth one November night. Before Hyde even considers her as anything more than an annoying, if pretty, nuisance. Sure she’s hot, any idiot with eyes can see that, but she’s also a pain - a consistent pain in his ass since day one. And he isn’t about to fall for that cliche. Besides, it’s not like she’s interested in guys like him anyhow. ...Not that that’s relevant.

_ Small Grasshopper _ . He watches too many movies is all. If he had still been on that stupid  _ Star Wars _ kick Forman was less likely to abandon than his sickening love for Donna, Hyde probably would have said ‘padawan’ instead. But Grasshopper suits her better. Small and bright, a clear sign of spring, a jumpy little critter. She hates hearing him comparing her to a bug, which only makes him smile wider every time he uses the name. Aggravating her is one of the few small joys in life. She gets this crinkled look on her face, a redness to her cheeks, that he just... he finds it funny is all.

She hops to like a good little grasshopper, doing all he asks, and he can’t lie and say it doesn’t feel good to have her doing his bidding. He wonders if shining his boots isn’t the only thing she’d do if he asked… he shakes his head. Ridiculous. Stupid.  _ Horny _ .

He just needs to get laid. That’ll bounce the little Grasshopper out of his mind.


	4. Princess/Your Highness

The name only comes after the boys had seen that stupid _Star Wars_ film Jackie still hasn’t bothered to watch. It’s a total guys’ flick after all, and she would much rather see _The Goodbye Girl_ or even _Saturday Night Fever_.

So she knows nothing about it. She doesn’t listen when Michael rambles on and on about it, and she definitely tunes out Eric’s enraptured rants. Hyde never really goes into too much detail about it, but there’s definitely something new in his language after having seen it.

“Hey, princess, you mind shutting the door behind you when you leave this time?” Hyde snaps, as yesterday, she had left it swinging wide open in her wake.

She shoots a glare at him, “Mind shutting your mouth, Hyde?”

He slaps the palm of his hand to his chest, faking a cry of distress, before pitching his voice to sound weak and effeminate, “Oh! I apologize for my rudeness, your highness, just don’t hurt me again!” The smirk on his face is nearly as broad as the flush screaming across her cheeks. He takes subversive joy in any and every burn that turns her face so pink.

“Sh-shut up, Hyde!” she slams the door behind her so hard it bounces open anyways, letting in all the fresh air he doesn’t want.

He rolls his eyes and commands Forman to shut the door. The scrawnier boy does so, grumbling about this being _his_ house and Hyde can shut the door _himself_ , after all, he has two good arms and legs _doesn't he_. Hyde shoots him a disbelieving glare, and Forman shuts up.

Hyde doesn’t think once about the nickname, but it comes up every so often afterwards, usually when he’s really trying to get to her last nerve. Or when he’s trying to coax that blush to surface again. Then when he’s trying not to let it escape how much he doesn’t mind her. Again when he realizes he _likes_ her, and he can’t _believe_ this, but he isn’t disgusted by her anymore.

He kisses her, and he's thinking _I’m in love with this crazy chick_ with something like fireworks exploding in his chest. But... she doesn’t feel the same way back. Not anymore, at least.

And then he's damning that same princess when she won't have the common decency to return those feelings.

But isn't that just so typical of tyrannical royalty? Cheating the every day man out of his shirt, shoes, and then self. The princess has run off with his heart, of all fucking things, when he hadn't even been aware of it.


	5. Tiny Dancer

She loves Elton John. Almost to death. She plays  _ Goodbye Yellow Brick Road _ and  _ Madman Across the Water _ almost until they melt into vinyl puddles on the record player. If she could, she’d have  _ Tiny Dancer _ on repeat until the sun imploded, killing them all. Hyde pretends he hates it, sick of Elton’s crooning and piano-playing, but her smile and terrible voice trying desperately to follow along makes him way too happy. Ridiculously happy, considering exactly how awful her singing is.

> _ Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer! _
> 
> _ Count the headlights on the highway _
> 
> _ Lay me down in sheets of linen _
> 
> _ You had a busy day, today… _

He watches her spin and twirl, watches her skirts flare as she dreamily sways to every note. She can’t hold the pitch, forgets lyrics as soon as she hears them, and gets caught up in the music before realizing there are words to be sung. It’s unreasonably adorable, and Hyde knows he’s in too deep by this point. If he can find this raucous noise attractive, he’s either insane or in love.

She’s surprised when he stands, grasping her little hands in his own, pulling her close to him, “Now she’s in me, always with me. Tiny Dancer, in my hand,” he hums in his own slightly off-key voice, unable to make himself sing louder. Her petite body fits neatly against his, warm and soft and wonderful, as they swayed together to the music. He's been waiting for this all to come crashing down, but so far, nothing.

> _ But oh how it feels so real _
> 
> _ Lyin’ here, with no one near _
> 
> _ Only you, and you can hear _
> 
> _ When I say softly, slowly... _

She's his Tiny Dancer, no doubt about it.


	6. Sweetheart

This is the most commonly heard one, and even if the guys mock him slightly for it, it isn’t half as bad as the many others he has used at some point. Besides, he can always throw a slightly sarcastic spin on this unoriginal one, turning it into a joke rather than anything serious.

“Sweetheart, no one wants to hear it,” he cuts her off, yanking the yammering girl off her feet onto his lap. She had been in the middle of a tirade about hot rollers versus styling wands, and everyone’s eyes are glazing over. He makes up for his rude words with a small kiss to the back of her neck, running his thumb over the back of her hand. She relaxes in his grip but still pouts, glaring slightly at him.

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Forman chuckles, the last sound of a dead man. Hyde shoots him daggers from his eyes, but his friend doesn't take even a lick of notice. “Look at Mr. Cool, got nicknames for his girlfriend and everything.”

“And it’s about time you came up with one for your hand, Forman, hasn’t it been your girlfriend long enough?” Hyde snaps back, earning a loud ‘BURN!’ from Kelso and a smirk from his sweetheart.

“Nice,” she compliments, eyes glimmering, because she enjoyed the banter as much as he did.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” this one's serious.  It's good he's wearing his sunglasses, or else everyone would see how he gazes into Jackie's eyes with nothing short of adoration.


	7. Minx

When Jackie’s bored, sometimes she’ll hum whatever’s stuck in her head that day. Usually it’s something annoying, like ABBA, or something mildly better such as Steely Dan, but today… well, Hyde would swear…

He looks up at her, blankly, “You know, I could just put on the album if you want.”

She blinks back, all innocent, “What?”

“You’re humming Zeppelin,” he’s trying not to grin, but she brings out all the emotion in him. And when  _ Thank You _ is obviously trailing off her warm, full lips like that, he can’t believe she’s with him. That she’s becoming more like him by the day, and in the best of ways, because she never liked Zeppelin before.

“I’m not,” she denies, but the flash in her eyes tells him she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“ _ Little minx _ ,” the name rolls off his tongue in an easy growl as he puts his magazine down, getting up to stalk her down. She’s all sorts of pink in the face, and it’s only serving to make him hornier. “You are. You like Led Zeppelin.”

“I don’t,” she frowns, pouts really, but his brain shorts out the minute her plump little bottom lip sticks out like that. All he can think about is taking it as his own. “It’s just stuck in my head.”

“Uh huh,” he bends down to capture her humming mouth with his, reclaiming his music, his love, his girl. His minx.

She _so_ likes Led Zeppelin now, and she can't do much to make him think otherwise.


	8. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more adult themes, with threats made to a small female in a club, so... yeah.

It’s no secret that Steven Hyde is a possessive man. He doesn’t have much, but what he does, he keeps close by and doesn’t let out of his sight or good shape. His uncle’s boots, the only uncle that ever mattered, were buffed every week to make up for constant use. The ring on his finger was the only gift his mother ever gave him, if you could call it that, considering she only gave him the nickel he used to purchase it with. The records Forman gave him were kept in pristine condition, only listened to carefully, so the needle didn’t keep running along the grooves and wear them down.

So when other guys hit on his chick, well…

“Hey, little lady, you busy tonight?” Jackie’s looking furiously for her boyfriend, panic rising in her throat, as the men pick at her. There’s three of them, and they grin like jackals about to pounce on wounded prey. “So cute. Lookit those lips. Cocksucker lips right there…”

“Hey, man, you wanna fuck off?” Hyde’s growl makes an appearance shortly before she can see him, and his hand is already clenched on the closest man’s jacket. “She’s  _ mine _ .” His territorial snarl sent shivers across her skin and deep into her bones. She relaxes, feeling secure as long as he's there, and perhaps naively so. There's little she doesn't believe Steven can do, and he's always been her white knight in scary situations. Or, perhaps more accurately, he is her dingy, weed-smoking, curly-haired knight.

“Oh yeah? Maybe you should be keeping a better eye on her,  _ man _ ,” they’re all taller than Hyde, but he looks less bothered at being circled by these goons than when she was. “She’s real tiny. Could get lost in this club easily.”

“She’s not gonna get lost,” Hyde ducks through them, putting himself in front of Jackie with defiance shining in his eyes like a fire. “But you are. You should get out before this gets ugly.”

Thankfully, they back off, unwilling and perhaps too sober to start a fight in the middle of a club. Hyde’s shoulders sink, and he turns to face Jackie with a small smile.

“You need to be less hot,” he grumbles. “I’m not about to get in a fight every time someone finds you attractive."

“Oh, Steven!” she flings her arms around his neck, beaming happily. “You were so brave!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, curling one hand over the back of her head and resting the other on her waist. “I’m a regular Batman.”

“And,” she leans back to look him mischievously, “you can call me ‘yours’ as much as you want.”

“Well, you are  _ mine _ ,” Hyde’s voice turns wolfish, his grip tightens, and when his lips capture hers, his desire is nothing less than animalistic. Her blood thrills, her body sings, and she can't imagine being happier than in this very moment.


	9. Little Angel

‘Little’ goes without much explanation. She’s tiny in every way. It doesn’t take much strength at all to lift her up in the air or move her around. He’s had experience throwing her over his shoulder, hiking her up in his arms, pulling her to his chest with the barest of efforts. In fact, they’ve had a lot of fun with her pinned to walls and lifted above him. He likes her on top, likes the look on her face when she’s propped up on his lap and staring down into his eyes with fire and fervor. It’s intoxicating - the ‘glistening’ on her skin and the natural redness to her cheeks, the tiny gasps and rattling breaths, the way her eyes shut ever so briefly before she has to look on him again. Has to. Like she’s eating him up with her gaze, or else she'd starve. 

Angel, then, well… he didn’t mean to say it, is all, really.

“You’re like an  _ angel _ ,” he’s woozy with the stash’s effects weighing heavily on his mind, now, and they’re alone in his room. He’s got her on lifted his hands and knees, balanced there so they’re nose to nose. She’s giggling and high as a kite, black hair fluttering around her face and brushing his cheeks, her white skirt tickling his bared calves. At some point, it had gotten too hot for pants, but she had refused to take off her shirt. He called her a spoilsport; she called him a pig. It was kind of their thing.

She’s his little angel kite, flying above him. “Little angel.”

“Aww, Steven!” she manages, through girlish and hiccuping laughter. “I love it! I’m gonna hafta remember that one!”

“Nah, no one ever remembers shit after circle-time,” he responds confidently, grinning too widely. In his many years of experimenting, he has noticed that much.

She does, though, and she reminds him of it every so often. He wonders how she can get so blitzed out and yet recall every instance of him being sweet on her. Damn her and her angelic smiles, making him soft.


	10. Wifey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have headcanon that Steven is totally Scottish/Irish on his mother's side. Just like Donna's straight up Italian/Sicilian, Jackie's Russian/Baltic/Slavic (obviously), Kelso's German/English/typical European mutt, and Eric is probably Pennsylvanian Dutch, English, maybe some Irish, and I'm thinking Polish just for funsies. Fez is, clearly, foreign.
> 
> I really like genealogy.

Oddly enough, Jackie hates the word ‘wifey’. She can’t really put a finger on why it bothers her, perhaps it’s demeaning? But it’s not quite that. Maybe it just sounds strange. Whatever it is, Steven seems to enjoy referring to her as ‘wifey’ whenever he gets too drunk and needs to be picked up. It’s annoying… but a little cute. Mostly thanks to how he acts once inebriated.

While his ruddy complexion and slurred words aren’t the most attractive, Jackie can’t help but find his childish side amusing and adorable. It peeks its head out only when Hyde becomes tipsy, and it involves a lot of him tugging on his bottom lip, puppy-eyed pouting, and giving her Eskimo kisses.

“You here for a, uh, Mrs. Jackie Hyde?” the bartender looks amused as Jackie trounces into the bar, key swinging around one finger tip. She wonders if Steven’s drawn on her face again, this time proclaiming his ownership of her.

“How’d you guess?” she asks, genuinely surprised, and trying not to laugh. Steven always gets a little silly and loose with names once he’s three sheets to the wind; this isn’t a first for him.

The lady working the bar jerks a thumb at the back of a curly head just ten feet away or so, and she rolls her eyes while smiling, “He won’t stop talking about you. Cute at first, but I think he’s making the other drunks jealous.”

Jackie can’t help the fond smile curling her lips as she finds her man, talking more than he ever does sober, and using increasingly volatile hand gestures. Drinking really brings out the European heritage in her husband; Jackie thinks it’s a lot of Irish and maybe Scottish.

“Steven?” her voice perks him right up, and he beams at her like a child. It warms her like sunlight.

“Jackie!” he nearly falls off his stool stumbling towards her, finally getting his arm around her, and swaying. His grin starts from one ear and ends at the other. “Guys, guys, this’s my wifey!” he kisses her cheek with an exaggerated release, smiling goofily. “Hey, Jackie.”

“We already know, Hyde,” Eric’s body is stretched along the table, his head pressed against the cool of his glass, which is duct-taped to his hand. Jackie decides not to ask. “You’re not supposed to see her tonight.”

“That’s before the wedding, Eric,” Jackie replies fondly, enjoying the brief clinginess of her fiance. “Three days from now.” She smiles at Steven. “Enjoying your bachelor party, Steven?”

He frowns dramatically, thinking with furrowed eyebrows, “I think it’d be better with you,” he decides in a too-loud whisper. She flushes, unused to his sweet words being spoken aloud rather than communicated silently through body language and small gestures.

It’s odd how she can find it overwhelming when she’s wanted it so much before.

“Well, I’m gonna take him home now, guys, you all got rides?” Jackie sighs, looking at their male friends, all in various states of drunkenness. They all reply in vague terms, but it’s not Jackie’s job to look after them, so she assumes they’ll be fine. Her first priority is the curly-haired ex-boyfriend at her side.

Soon to be husband. _Hubby._ Jackie shudders at the terrible nickname. No, wifey and hubby just sound… weird. She’s not planning on using either of them once married.

Meanwhile, Steven’s humming something that sounds a bit like _Chapel of Love_ and smiling like an idiot. His Jackie is warm and small under his arm, and he can’t wait to see her in a little white dress, sashaying down to him at the altar. He’s done with making shit decisions based on fear.

He’s ready to take a little selfish happiness out of this world, and he’d be damned if he let it slip away again.


	11. Sunshine

She’s sleeping, but he can’t find it in himself to succumb to the dreamworld yet. Hyde trails his fingers through her hair, the raven tendrils splashed over his pillowcase soft between his calloused digits. It’s moments like these, when no one can see them and even she’s unconscious to his ministrations, that he allows a little softness to bleed through his tough exterior. She's hot and everything, but her big cheerleader mouth's gonna get him in trouble one of these day's, blurting out all his secrets. It's somewhat telltale of the depth to his feelings, though, that that thought doesn't do much more than raise a wry smile to his lips. He hovers over hers for a moment, his fingers itching to feel them, but he doesn't want her to wake up.

The radio’s playing, and it’s on some old 50’s station, playing rockabilly and jump blues tunes that Hyde doesn't listen to in the daytime. Only Jackie knows that he falls asleep to this station most nights.

An old familiar song starts up, and he recognizes it only a few notes in, eyes fluttering shut as the music washes over him. The memories it awakens are ancient, crumbling in his mind, shunted to the back but worn around the edges from constant turning. His mother’s mother, a good woman, sang this song to him when he couldn’t sleep; when Edna ditched him and the nights stretched on too long and too lonely. She had died when he was around five or six, and until Jackie, he hasn't had even a portion of comfort all to himself since. She's... she's his...

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he murmurs, humming more than singing along. He keeps his voice so low it drags from the bottom of his throat, too rough and too flat to sound itself out properly. “You make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away…” The song's a sad one, in the end, but he's determined to keep to the chorus.

Jackie’s body shifts with a sigh, and he sucks in his breath tightly, waiting, as her doll-like face turns up to him... with closed eyes. _Still asleep, good._ His reputation is secured. That held breath leaks from his lips slowly, and he grazes his thumb over her cheek so gently he barely feels skin, just body heat and peach fuzz.

There’s not much, if any, light in his room, so Jackie lights candles when she stays over. Which has been much more frequent after their brief breakup, not that he minded. He finds himself needing reassurance that she's here, that one stupid mistake isn't going to break them apart forever. She chose him, wants him, will only fight for _him_. He tugs her in closer, slowly, so her back is flush to his chest. The fading orange tongues of flame let off soft coronas, flickering in the utter blackness of his room and softening the edges of every piece of clutter.

Just like she does. His little sunshine.

“God, I’m turning into Forman,” he mutters to himself, but he can’t deny it. There’s very little intrinsic goodness in his life, very little light, and she’s like a freaking atomic bomb releasing energy and radiance, destroying everything that came before it. All the shelters, the walls, the barricades, and every single line of defense lay in dust at her feet.

Really, he should call her his little A-Bomb, his Manhattan Project, but Sunshine just sounds a little happier. A little less apocalyptic.

“Goodnight, Sunshine,” he kisses her temple and rests his head down behind hers, nose buried in her coconutty-lavender scented hair.

The next morning, Jackie just so happens to be over early enough for breakfast, and Mrs. Forman happily makes a place for her to eat amidst Red’s loud complaints, Steven’s hidden smiles, and Eric’s habitual bellyaching. She grabs for the syrup as Hyde holds her hand under the table, rubbing his thumb over the back of her knuckles. Over the table, he keeps a straight face and cuts his sausage with one hand, spearing a chunk of it to put in his mouth.

“I heard a song, in my dreams,” she mentions to him while Red’s verbally kicking Eric’s ass over something stupid the scrawny idiot said. Her hair forms a thin curtain as she turns her head to look at him, smiling. “You called me Sunshine.”

He carefully wipes his face clean of emotion, raising an eyebrow only in faint amusement, “Must’ve been something you ate.”

“Huh,” she nods, lifting a triangle slice of pancake to her lips. In any other person’s hand, a fork was a fork and pancake was simple breakfast food. Somehow - between her full lips, half-mast eyelids, and slow movements - it became an art, pure seduction. Hyde licks his lips clean of sticky maple syrup, sucking on his teeth lightly before shaking his head.

“Nope, not gonna work on me, Sunshine,” he sips from his orange juice, suppressing a grin, and ignores the ecstatic beam spreading across his girlfriend’s face. If he looks, he might just kiss her, and he definitely can’t do that at the breakfast table.

Red might threaten to kick his ass, and he doesn’t need that so early in the morning.


	12. Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much more mature rating than the other chapters, this one's gonna have a lotta sexual energy. Also some music by Pink Floyd, 'cuz I live for that tbh. So you're forewarned, though, sex stuff. Got it? Good.

He had once called this expression her sex kitten look: the half-masted eyelids and pursed lips, that little shake of her head and therefore her shining midnight hair, the slight lifting of her shoulders. She doesn’t have to do much of anything to seduce him, and yet she pulls out this classic pose every time she’s in the mood. He can’t say he minds; she looks freaking hot when she puts on a little sexy flair.

But then, she’s dead gorgeous even when she’s snoring in her sleep, dressed in over-sized flannels, and drooling on his chest, so…

“Steven,” she crosses the room purposefully, hips gently sashaying, and his hands itch to yank her down to his lap. He waits instead, foot fidgeting as he holds himself still, staring into those dark, deep eyes of hers. She’s putting on a show, and damned if he’s going to stop it so soon.

The basement is theirs for the night. Red and Kitty are having a weekend to themselves in Milwaukee, and Eric’s taking full advantage of the fact Bob’s out for some golfing event. It’s late enough that no one will interrupt the production, or rather seduction, Jackie had planned on giving Steven. Not for anything in particular, just because she _can_.

The air is static and lightning as Jackie slips her long, shining hair from its loose bun, shaking it around her slim shoulders. Steven swallows thickly and grins as she slowly peels away her pea coat, revealing his Led Zeppelin top and not much else.

A groan rises from his throat as he drinks her in, and his foot is definitely kicking ground right now, just trying desperately to remain in his chair as she strides to him.

He can barely hear the album she put on the moment she came down the stairs, ignoring his questions and then his surprised expression, because this _isn’t_ what Jackie Burkhart listens to. Yeah, she’s now dating Steven Hyde, resident bad boy and rock’n’roller, but she had retained her sequined pink, ABBA-loving persona enough to exude girlishness in overwhelming tides.

And yet, here she is, setting _Obscured by Clouds_ on the record player, like she knows Gilmour from Waters - hell, like she knows David Gilmour from Keith fucking _Richards_. The first track of the less popular Pink Floyd album had hummed into the air, stunning him, and she hooked her chin over her shoulder to wink at him, as if the music hadn’t done enough damage to his Zen exterior.

From then, he’s been staring at her with unshielded excitement, and his ears have been deaf to the world around him. Her hips sway to the music, the coat long discarded to the floor, and the song moves on to the second track by way of heavier guitar work and firm, patient drumming. Gone, along with the dreamy quality of _Obscured by Clouds_ ’ title song, is any of Jackie’s potential inhibitions.

She had once said, declared even, she’d never strip for him.

“What’s the point in _me_ opening _your_ present?” she pouted, but he could hear the smirk in her tone. “That’s your job.”  _Damn, she's good._

Now she perches on his lap, sliding his glasses off his face with practiced ease and rolling her hips against his. He’s been hard for the last five minutes, and the sudden pressure is overwhelming. He groans, sighs, breathes in stuttering staccato as she leans in and brushes her nude lips against his cheek. He loves when her face is bare and clean, reminding him of sleepy nights at her side - the way she’ll turn over and snuggle her face into his neck and chest and let out those drowsy sighs.

Besides, her lipstick is sticky and whatever she puts on her face to make it ‘smooth’ or ‘creamy’ or whatever gets on all his shirts. It’s annoying, frankly, and he’d rather see her plainly than all made up to society’s standards of beauty.

“Jackie…” he whispers, eyes squeezing shut for just a second before he has to see her again. Her eyes are flooded with desire and love, and he can’t believe anyone’s looking at him with such longing. Let alone her. His hands grasp Jackie’s slender hips, feeling the slick silk of her panties under his thumbs, and he wants to return the favor she’s doing him.

She bites down sharply on the crook of his neck and shoulder, bringing a rush of new heat to his nether regions and a strangled cry from his throat. Jackie laps the bruised area with careful, quick licks, suckling sweetly like he’s a frigging lollipop. His head droops back a little, savoring the way she made him feel so wanted.

 _When You’re In_ fades out before Steven even notices, so wrapped up in this little sex kitten rolling on his thighs. Her hands slide underneath his shirt and glide over his stomach and chest, tweaking his nipples playfully between warm fingers. She scrapes her nails gently over his back, releasing needy sighs from his mouth. She won’t let him kiss her, only increasing his desire for her lips as she plants soft pecks across his neck and bared clavicle.

 

 

> _Bridges burning gladly,_
> 
> _Merging with the shadows,_
> 
> _Flickering between the lines._

The music is soft and warm, _or is that Jackie?_ , and Steven drowns in her hunger. She rolls his shirt up and off him, baring him to the cool, humid air of the basement. Her lips cascade kisses down the center of his chest, leaving wet marks to chill against the rest of his burning hot skin.

 

 

> _Stolen moments floating softly on the air,_
> 
> _Born on wings of fire and climbing higher._
> 
> _Ancient bonds are breaking,_
> 
> _Moving on and changing sides._

“Jackie,” he pants again, and he’s sure she can feel the fire burning inside of him.

She drags her hand along his crotch and grins wide. Oh yeah, she can definitely feel the heat. His smile matches hers and he reaches up with one hand, locking it in that soft black mane, pulling her to be nose to nose with himself.

 

 

> _Dreaming of a new day,_
> 
> _Cast aside the other way._

“Let’s take this to bed, huh, kitten?” he drawls, voice thick with wicked desire.

For a moment, time stops, and her body stills. Something uncertain hangs in the air.

Jackie yanks away suddenly, blinking furiously as a look of horror comes over her face. She looks as though a bucket of ice water just sluiced down her spine and ruined her perfect hair.

“Oh, oh…!” she presses her hand to her twisted mouth and bolts, leaving Steven in his chair and very confused. Also ridiculously hard, still. His bedroom door slams behind her, and he hears her lock herself in.

“Jackie?” he wanders over, wincing as the denim pulls against him uncomfortably. He adjusts a little and sighs. What’d he do now? “Jackie, what the hell…?”

“That’s what my _dad_ calls me!” she shouts back through the door, utterly disgusted and trembling from the stupid mental pictures blasting through her brain. “Oh, ew, I just… _ugh_!”

Despite himself, he laughs, leaning his forehead against the door and squeezing his eyes shut. “Are you serious?” Only he could have this bad of luck, choosing a nickname her dad had long ago. God, he’s still aching for the little tease on the other side of that door, but maybe after this, once the little spell has passed, she’ll be up for it again.

“Never call me _that_ again!” she threatens, still on the verge of sickness.

There’s nothing okay with thinking about your daddy when you’re trying to sex up your hot boyfriend!

“Alright,” he pauses, smirking. “Kitten.”

“STEVEN JAMES HYDE, THAT’S NOT FUNNY!”


End file.
